Emergence

The wind that drove me

from the cavern stopped blowing;

a long intermission poised -

drawing my eyes into regions where

light had been filtered by jigsaw effects

of the surrounding trees.

To see inside myself meant

halting the apparent gaze;

meant arguing with the fractionated aspects -

all gathered in committee

to decide who would deliver

the final product.

As if I cared.

It was all a sham -

illusion and smoke and focus pocus;

a multicolored cape-swirl

beneath the spotlights

as the audience gasped

in pure amazement.

All facets danced with me;

the front men, the showgirls.

Performers all, enacting the sleight of hand,

the high kick - a dazzling/sparkling

disco ball of the self.

O wonderment.

Beyond lay a greener time -

a bucolic freedom to reassemble

the jumble of parts;

discover the integral.

Sunlight awaited -

warmth and silence

atop the mountain.

© 2002 Melissa Songer

Tales of the vine

I don’t have much to say
these days -
just a few arguments
with myself
as to the nature
of love and fear,
prana and demons,
light and shadow,
and whether
you can have one
without the other;
dualities mingling.
Fragments personified
to protest the
verging consolidation.

Does the vine
keep the fence intact -
flower-hearts dripping?
Mazes breathe their cantos
into the swirling mesh.
There is a place within
my heart unencumbered;
a river flowing
to a home beyond
my doubts.

© 2001 Melissa Songer